Voices of Cybertron
by AotA
Summary: "Ah want ta hear ya talk in that beautiful voice o' yours." An exploration of how location and class affects spoken Cybertronian. Now "in-progress" instead of "complete." More to come.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Voices of Cybertron

**Author**: AotA

**Rating**: K

**Warnings**: fluff, Prowl playing a not-quite-a-prank on Sideswipe

**Characters**: Prowl, Jazz, Sideswipe

**Setting**: Unspecified

**Summary: **"Ah want ta hear ya talk in that beautiful voice o' yours."

**Notes: **An exploration of how location and class affects spoken Cybertronian.

Jazz leaned up against Prowl, systems vibrating against each other with equal silence.

"Ya okay?" Jazz asked quietly in the silence of their rooms.

"I will be," was the equally quiet reply.

Jazz perked up at the way Prowl said those three words. "Was that… Upper class Praxus?"

Prowl remained silent.

Jazz edged up so that he was on top of the other mech and stared him in the optics. "It was, wasn't it?" Jazz demanded, incredulous and amused. The amusement to a few moments to bubble over. "_My_ Prowl can talk like a high class Praxus model!" he teased, emphasizing his own very much _lower_ Polyhex accent as he poked Prowl's chest plating with a clawed finger.

Prowl frowned and the next time he spoke it was in his typical Official Standard, "What of it?"

"Hey now," Jazz protested, "Don't mean nothin' by it." Jazz dropped his optics, running his claws gently over Prowl's armor, "Ah… Ah actually kinda like it."

Prowl was quiet for a long time, hands reaching to capture jazz's and still them in place, "…Jazz?"

Jazz's head snapped up at the shy, distinctively Praxus trill. Prowl's face was unsure, tentative… quiet. "Say somethin'?" he requested. Jazz was sure that if the both of them hadn't been as tired and wrung out as they were, Prowl wouldn't have ever let slip something like this, no matter how endearing Jazz found it.

"What do you want me to say?" Prowl was quiet but it was in that cultured voice.

Jazz smiled, humming happily at the unmasking of his love's accent, and curled up over Prowl's chest plates, "That's perfect. Whatever ya want ta say is fine, just as long as ya say it just like that."

Prowl didn't say anything else as they relaxed and Jazz didn't ask him to as they relished simply being in close proximity again.

-=/\=-

Sideswipe careened around the corner and slammed into Jazz, panic evident in his jerky attempts to scramble off of him, "Jazz! Help!"

Jazz steadied the frantic warrior, "What's goin' on, Sides'? There a fire Ah haven't heart 'bout or somethin'?"

"Prowl!" Sideswipe burst out, gesturing wildly, "Prowl's the one that's the problem!"

"Prowl?" Jazz parroted in confusion, "He glitch on _ya_ this time?"

"Glitch?" Sideswipe repeated faintly, "No. No, not exactly…"

Jazz's comm. opened and Prowl's upper Praxus accent filled his audials, "Jazz, would you please send Sideswipe back to the monitor room? He ran out on me when I attempted to hand off duty."

Jazz laughed, "'S that it? Shoulda known. Come on, Sides' back ya to. I'm not gonna get ya outta monitor duty. _This_ time."

"But…!" Sideswipe was nearly incoherent, "…but!"

"But nothin'," Jazz said firmly, shoving the red mech back the way he came, "Beat it."

When Sideswipe wandered off the direction Jazz had pushed him in he remained in a daze, muttering to himself as if brutally traumatized.

Jazz watched him go with amusement, "Whatcha do ta him, Prowler?" The still open comm. was a boon.

"What makes you think I have anything to do with Sideswipe's state?" Prowl sounded perfectly innocent.

"Ah dunno, Prowler," Jazz bantered back, "Could possibly be tha fact that ya are talkin' like that."

"Like what?" Prowl enquired but this time there was a hint of amusement finally leaking out.

"Ah think ya know tha answer ta that," Jazz drawled.

Prowl chuckled, "Indeed."

Jazz grinned up at a camera, "Havin' fun?"

"Immensely," Prowl assured.

"Good."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Voices of Cybertron II

**Author**: AotA

**Rating**: K

**Warnings**: fluff, Prowl playing a not-quite-a-prank on the Ark

**Characters**: Prowl, Jazz, Optimus

**Setting**: tf-bayverse

**Summary: **"Ah want ta hear ya talk in that beautiful voice o' yours."

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Transformers.

**Notes: **An exploration of how location and class affects spoken Cybertronian.

"Prowl?" Optimus prompted.

Prowl smirked and replied with a quiet, "Yes, sir." Prowl ignored the curious expression and stood in front of one of his tactical displays. He faced the mechs and began to speak, "As we have had, and continue to have Decepticon incursions…"

His first words had Jazz stare in shock for a klik before he broke out a happy smile, but that quickly changed when he realized the effect Prowl was having on all the other mechs. A gleeful expression that would probably be more at home on the resident prankster's face, namely Sidewipe, appeared.

All around him, mechs stared as they heard their tactician iterate changes in protocol and defense updates in his native Praxus accent instead of Official Standard Cybertronian, which was the only way anyone had ever heard him speak. Jazz stifled a snigger, knowing that _Prowl_ of all people was pulling a prank, and was he ever doing it with _style_.

Jazz wondered if he could try pulling off something similar and join him. He slouched, deciding that his own native accent was too thick and ingrained to manage it no matter how entertaining it would be. He would have to practice.

Eventually, without the usual interruptions during his presentation, Prowl finished going over the changes in record time and wrapped up what he was saying. "Any questions?"

There was silence as Prowl surveyed the other Autobots. His wings gained a quizzical tilt as there weren't any. He paused, then apparently decided that, no matter how odd it was, there were no questions and nodded, "Very well. That will be all this orn. If there are any other changes that need to be implemented I will notify you through the normal channels." He removed the tactical displays and returned to his seat, passing control of the meeting back to the Prime.

To his credit, Optimus managed to continue to conduct the meeting without too much of a delay, despite the sideways glances that continued throughout it. That is, he continued the meeting until there was a distinctly worried comm. from Jolt, informing the command staff that there was a small crisis in progress involving Wheeljack, various potently volatile substances, a localized system blackout, and two small oblivious twins. They winced in unison, none of those things were good on their own, but together they had the potential to be frightfully disastrous. Optics caught each other around the table, silent debates over who would be responsible to handle this situation this time.

With a suspicious, but unsurprising, lack of volunteers, Prowl found himself resigned to handling the task as he had already gone over his part of the meeting. Informing Jazz that, "I will rely on you to recount the rest of the meeting at a later point in time," he swept out of the meeting like a spark set on vengeance.

Jazz watched his sparkmate leave with a chuckle, feeling sorry for the poor slaggers about to meet their creators. He didn't notice the tense lull in the conversation until bewildered voices erupted making him jump in surprise. Jazz turned his attention back to the small mutiny occurring in shock. After a moment, when what they were saying registered, Jazz couldn't resist a wry, vexed smile. _Oh Prowl, you just love confounding these poor mechs, don't you?_ Jazz rested his cheek in his palm, letting the babble wash over him. He wasn't going to get involved in this particular uproar.

Eventually, Prime slapped down a fritzing Red Alert, a bewildered, and thusly rather cross, Ratchet, and a growling Ironhide. Blaster was simply intrigued and had a thoughtful expression stamped across his face. Perceptor, as a stand in for Wheeljack, looked confused but amused by the proceedings.

"How Prowl chooses to speak is none of our business," Optimus eventually lectured. "Prowl _is_ a Praxus model after all. Why wouldn't he be able to speak like it?"

Red Alert shook his head, not buying it, "Why would he start now, of all times? He has never talked like that before."

Jazz decided that he should probably fess up. He raised a hand tentatively, "Uh… Ah think that that's kinda my fault."

The shift in attention, focused unerringly on him, had the saboteur wishing he hadn't said anything. He sank down in his seat to present a smaller target. _Oh man! This is all your fault Prowl!_

-=/\=-

Prowl sighed as he finished sorting out the mini crisis to find that the meeting had indeed finished in his absence and he was due to take the next shift on monitor duty. Scanning through his schedule backlog, Prowl realized that he was going to have to multitask to finish all the data pads that needed to be gone over.

Dropping by his office so that he could pick up the most urgent data pads, he finally made his way to the monitor station to relieve Inferno. Fortunately for him, he had all shift to "relax" with his work. Unfortunately for him, it was after his shift was over and it was his own turn to be relieved that a disaster quickly materialized. And that disaster became the cause for Prowl's exasperated yet extremely amused dismay. Sideswipe, apparently, had been missed by the gossip grapevine.

It wasn't _Prowl's _fault that what happened, happened. Not at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Voices of Cybertron III

Author: AotA

Rating: K

Warnings: fluff, Prowl playing a not-quite-a-prank on the Ark and Optimus joins in

Characters: Prowl, Optimus, Jazz, Red Alert

Setting: tf-bayverse

Summary: "Ah want ta hear ya talk in that beautiful voice o' yours."

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers.

Notes: An exploration of how location and class affects spoken Cybertronian. Prowl attempted to inject angst into this fic but I begged him not to. We eventually came to a compromise to keep the humor at the forefront of VoC. I am determinedly funneling the angst into "Shatterpoint: Love" instead, where it belongs. Prowl then decided to pounce on Jazz and give him his _full_ attention. *wiggles eyebrows*

Also, many thanks to the wonderful Thalanee who beta-ed this so quickly and caught my mistakes. To my readers: I hope this makes you laugh.

Prowl finally admitted to himself that he was having fun confusing the living daylights out of his fellow comrades when the towering Prime entered his office and Optimus asked for a private "talk." Prowl could tell that Optimus was confused like the rest of the Autobots but he could also see that the Prime was more entertained than anything else.

"What made you decide to suddenly switch accents?" Optimus' question was earnest and curious, his optics lit by a gentle light.

Prowl couldn't hide his tiny smile but shook his head anyway, "It was a conversation that I had with Jazz that made me think on why I spoke Standard in the first place. I realized that those reasons are no longer valid and that they haven't been for a long time."

"I see," Optimus nodded slightly, as Prowl's story lined up with what little his officers had managed to pry out of Jazz, "...May I ask why you stopped speaking Praxus in the first place?"

Prowl thought back to those first days and grimaced, "Let's just say that Sentinel Prime ordered that all officers above a certain rank and other closely affiliated officials either speak mandated Standard, Iacon, or High Iacon for certain reasons that don't need to be disclosed."

Optimus paused, disliking the implications, "…I see." He didn't really, but he also wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know the entire story considering that it was bad enough to draw that particular reaction from his stoic tactician.

Prowl knew could tell that the Prime didn't understand. Prowl flicked his wings in an almost dismissive manner, "To tell the truth, Optimus, I honestly believe that most of the crew have adopted different speech patterns at some point in their lives than their native one… either due to receiving orders similar to the ones I was under, or due to the chaos of the war." Prowl spread his hands, palms up, "No one would be able to tell if an Aubobot originally came from a different city or if they were originally higher or lower class than they wished to appear when they joined us. So few know one another from before the war that it would be impossible to verify and pointless to try."

_Prowl is more right than he probably knows,_ Optimus thought, _and the fact that I myself speak High Iacon is probably a case in point. But who else changed like Prowl? Like me?_

Prowl twitched his wings up slightly, satisfied that Optimus was thinking about it, and turned his attention back to the neglected data pad on his desk.

Optimus decided to stop pestering his tactician but paused on his way out. "Prowl?"

Prowl looked up, "Yes sir?"

"You are more right than either of us probably know," Optimus confided his thoughts and read the startled understanding in the sudden glow of Prowl's optics at the subtle alteration in vocal patterns. With a nod and not giving Prowl a chance to think of anything to say, Optimus exited the door and headed back to his own office, goals accomplished. Along the way though, he paused to suddenly wonder dangerously, horribly tempted, _Do I dare?_

-=/\=-

When Red Alert came into Optimus' office, he had managed to work himself into such a state that he didn't even wait for the Autobot leader to ask him what was wrong. "Prowl must be stopped from disrupting the crew! He is jeopardizing the safety of this base with his games! It might even be a signal of some kind to our enemies!"

After a while, Optimus held up a hand, stopping Red Alert's tirade. Luckily, Red Alert was still paying that much attention to his commander and stopped practically mid-word, "Yes, sir?"

"Prowl has my blessings to speak in his native city-class inflection," Optimus ignored the sudden straightening of his Security Director and the suspicious look of paranoia forming on his faceplates, "and how he speaks is no more disruptive than other mechs make it. It is his right to speak as he wishes, and I will not infringe upon that right."

"Conspiracy," Red Alert hissed suddenly, "It is an infections virus that will take over all the mechs on base. Perhaps even ones not on base…!" Red Alert turned and fled Optimus' office, as if the Prime was no longer there, leaving Optimus to stare after him in bemusement as the scathing invective continued. "The Decepticons are most likely to source, attempting to…"

"Perhaps I should have started with someone else?" Optimus muttered ruefully to himself as the door closed and shut out his Security Director's rant. For the first time in countless vorns, he let the full roughness of his original Tyger Pax inflection become audible, the accent only slightly smoothed by how long he had spoken High Iacon. After a moment, Optimus brushed it off with a chuckle. "Ah, well. Nothing I can do about it now. I think I will have fun with this."

When Optimus picked up the next data pad in the stack, he began humming cheerfully to the tune of a Tyger Pax song that had been old when he first learned it.

-=/\=-

"Yes, sir. Yes, _sir_. _Yes_, sir. _Yes, sir_," Jazz tried to mimic Prowl's upper Praxus but was realizing just how hard this was going to be when—

"You know," Jazz shivered as Prowl's smooth voice interrupted from behind him and black and white arms wrapped around him firmly, "you accent is terrible."

Jazz chuckled and leaned back against his sparkmate's larger frame, "O' 'course, dear spark o' mine. 'S not like Ah'm a Praxus model."

"True," Prowl murmured amusedly, "You are very much a Polyhex model."

"Yeah, well…" Jazz made an aborted gesture, arms trapped against his sides, "Ah want ta try ta talk like ya instead. Make tha others' processors go for a loop. 'T would be hilarious. Maybe we could swap for an orn an' ya could talk like me an' I could talk like ya…" Jazz knew he was rambling but Prowl was far too close for his processor to work properly and it was distracting him something terrible.

Prowl's rare laugh made its appearance and Prowl pressed a chaste kiss to one of Jazz's audials, "The day that I can mimic a lower Polyhex accent and you an upper Praxus one, we can see about doing it."

Jazz shuttered his optics as light kisses trailed down his primary spinal strut, "Aw-Awesome! We can make a date o' it."

"Somehow I thought you would feel that way," Prowl purred, and then Jazz was entirely too distracted to think about much of anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Voices of Cybertron IV

**Author**: AotA

**Rating**: K

**Warnings**: fluff, Prowl playing a not-quite-a-prank on the Ark and Optimus joins in

**Characters**: Prowl, Optimus, Jazz, Red Alert

**Setting**: G1 with bayverse type looks

**Summary: **"Ah want ta hear ya talk in that beautiful voice o' yours."

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Transformers.

**Notes:** An exploration of how location and class affects spoken Cybertronian. Thank you Thalanee!

Red Alert's optics glowed ominously in the atmospherically dark office. His optics were the only source of light other than the monitors that showed views of the Ark from all angles. There was something going on within the Ark and signs of it were already appearing in high ranking officers, Prowl and _Optimus Prime_ of all mechs!

His optics' glow flickered as they caught sight of his quarry, both of them. And they were both en route to the rec room. Red Alert narrowed his optics as he followed their progress. _A sign?_ he wondered, _Or a coincidence?_ The use of the word "coincidence" made him twitch.

_No, _Red Alert shook his head, _No. Not a coincidence. Definitely not._

He settled in to watch them. He was the guardian of the Ark, whether the other Autobots recalled that or not. If Prowl and Optimus Prime became a danger to them, then he would be the one to sound the alert.

-=/\=-

Prowl walked slowly toward the rec room, most of his attention focused on the ever present data pad, but some of his processor mused over the way that the attention over his accent had begun to die down. Truthfully, he was… relieved. While it had been an amusing diversion, he was glad that the uproar was over.

With his attention thoroughly off his surroundings, he was rudely jolted back to reality when he rammed into Optimus who had just turned the corner ahead of him. The data pad that had held the other half of his processor dropped to the floor, and in a truly unfortunate turn, cracked.

"Sir!" Prowl said, a little stunned from running directly into his direct superior. He bowed his head slightly, backing up as he did so. He caught sight of the data pad. Prowl's optics flared and he bit back a curse. Dropping down to collect it, Prowl nearly froze in place when Optimus spoke to him.

"Prowl," Optimus said, "Aren't you supposed to be off duty?"

It was Prowl's turn to stare in stupefaction. His logic circuits protested at hearing the working class Tyger Pax accent that came from his Prime's vocalizer. His _Prime_!

Prowl gestured helplessly towards Optimus with the cracked data pad, "You…? …Tyger Pax? Out _here_?"

Optimus laughed and carefully began to maneuver his stunned tactician toward the rec room. This time, despite Prowl's lack of articulation, he understood what he was trying to say when adding it to what the mech had told him earlier about his "orders." "Yes, I will speak Tyger Pax here. And in the rec room. And in meetings. I wasn't sparked speaking High Iacon after all."

Prowl disengaged from Optimus and covered his face with a groan. When he spoke again, it was muffled by his hand, "…Just when it was starting to die down…"

Catching the complaint, Optimus had to laugh once more. "Sorry?" he offered unrepentantly.

Prowl just groaned again. He wanted to bead his head against something. Preferably a wall.

After a moment, Prowl drew himself together, clutching his data pad in front of him like a shield. "I have brought this upon myself," Prowl told himself firmly, ignoring Optimus' presence entirely, "Therefore, I must deal with what comes of it."

Prowl raised his wings rather aggressively, nodded to Optimus firmly, and asked, "Shall we?" as if he had not just given himself a pep talk.

Optimus eyed him for a moment before shrugging and leading the way despite his bemusement.

Prowl had decided that it was Situation Normal, All Fragged Up and was good to go. Processor thusly made up, he was able to enter the rec room and ignore the various speculative glances directed both his and Prime's way.

-=/\=-

Jazz was surprised when Prowl slumped into the seat next to him ungainfully with a heavy sigh. The cracked data pad was another surprise because he knew that Prowl took better care of his things than to randomly break one. "Prowl?" Jazz nudged the tactician, "Hey, anybody online in there?"

Prowl gave him a deadpan stare. Without looking away, he lifted a finger and slowly pointed in the direction of the Prime who was collecting a cube of energon. "He is now speaking with a Tyger Pax accent."

Jazz blinked, "So it's true then? Prime switched too?"

Prowl stared at Jazz, "…You know this… how, exactly?"

"Some 'bots said somethin' who said somethin' else," Jazz waved off, "Ya know how it is. Ya didn't hear?"

"No."

"Oh…" Jazz shrugged. Prowl had been locked up in his office so it wasn't unlikely, actually. "Still," Jazz looked Prowl up and down, seeing the stressed expression and the death grip he had on the cracked data pad, "Why are ya so weirded out 'bout it? _Ya_ did it."

"He's… Prime," Prowl said, in an odd mix of confusion, bafflement, and horror.

Jazz sighed. It was times like these that he wished that he had hung out in Iacon more before the war. He hadn't liked the glitter and glam of the city though, and word of some of the oddities that were going on there just made him that much more determined to avoid it. Prowl would have probably been right at the epicenter of the weirdness though. And seriously? Orders to speak a certain way? It boggled Jazz's processors and made him want to know _why_ and _how_ such a thing had occurred in the first place.

Jazz opened his mouth to ask precisely that question, as well as just who the frag had Sentinel thought he was when a Decepticon alert interrupted him before he could get a word out edgewise. Jazz's head met the table with an accompanying groan. This was always, _always_ happening to him.

He'd have to ask Prowl after they chased the Decepticons off. Again.

-=/\=-

Megatron glared at his Air Commander. He was in _no_ way copying Prime. Prime was obviously copying him. Obviously.

"What the _frag_ is wrong with you?" Starscream infamously screechy vocals shrilled, "Has Prime finally rattled your neural processors loose? Knocked something important in there out of alignment?" Starscream sneered at the Decepticon leader, "It's about time, if you ask me."

Soundwave studiously ignored the whole situation and concentrated on watching the communications channels, pretending not to have heard the sudden startled screech from the Decepticon Air Commander. He also ignored the pleading that followed. If either of the other two mechs had been paying attention, which they were not, they might have been able to catch the small sigh he let out. _Starscream: insolent as always_, was his only thought on the matter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Voices of Cybertron V

**Author: **AotA

**Rating: **K

**Warning: **Megatron is angry, Starscream has a _Plan, _andSoundwave is left holding the bag.

**Characters: **Optimus,Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, Ravage

**Setting: **G1/Bayverse blend (shaken, not stirred)

**Summary: **"Ah want ta hear ya talk in that beautiful voice o' yours."

**Notes:** An exploration of how location and class effects spoken Cybertronian. This chapter's short. Very, very short. I'm not really happy with it…

Optimus felt relief when the Decepticon commander called a retreat, Prowl's most recent tactics having had a decisive effect upon the flow of the battle. They had managed to push back the Decepticons back faster than ever.

Though, during the battle, when he had faced off against Megatron, the mech had had the strangest expression that Optimus had _ever_ seen upon his face. Optimus wondered why.

-=/\=-

Megatron brooded on his throne, irritated by his latest confrontation with Starscream. He didn't know why he had suddenly begun to speak High Kaon one more, but he was sure that the damnable Autobot Prime had something to do with it. Him and his uncultured Tyger Pax speech.

High Kaon was so old that the thought of any such dialect even existing was absurd to the more modern mechs in his army, and likely the Autobots as well. High Kaon was little more than an oxymoron and a joke these orn. Modern Kaon was a mongrel, bastardized language, only tenuously related to High Koan, and most of that relation was geographic.

Megatron snarled in the emptiness of the hall, _Damn Prime_.

-=/\=-

Starscream paced the length of his quarters agitatedly. _Something_ was wrong with Megatron, but he wasn't particularly interested in finding out what, if all it was going to get him was more abuse. Who knew, maybe it would get him killed off. So much the better for himself, after all, the Decepticons would finally have a _proper_ leader, an effective leader.

Cheering up slightly at the thought, Starscream left his quarters to search out his trine.

Starscream had a _Plan_. All he needed to do was find Skywarp and Thundercracker to set it in motion.

-=/\=-

Soundwave eyed Starscream back as his arrogance returned with every step the Seeker took. Ravage's single optic did the same. The felinoid Decepticon glanced at Soundwave questioningly.

"Ravage: Follow."

Ravage bared his fangs, darkly amused, "Just surveillance?"

Soundwave replied simply, "Sabotage: likely unnecessary. Discretion: Ravage's prerogative."

"Very well," Ravage said, savagely pleased and padded off. Starscream was _always _getting into something. It was just a matter of finding out _what_.


End file.
